


Ashes and Wine

by commas_and_ampersands



Category: Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon | Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon, Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon | Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon (Anime & Manga)
Genre: F/M, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-26
Updated: 2018-11-26
Packaged: 2019-08-30 02:07:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16755826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/commas_and_ampersands/pseuds/commas_and_ampersands
Summary: He sits across from you at the table, glasses perched on the end of his Roman nose and a hand-rolled cigarillo hanging from his bee-stung lips.  He stares at you with those clear-blue eyes you once adored, even if they always did look they were laughing at you, and the joke was a cruel one.  But then all his jokes are cruel.  It’s just who he is.





	Ashes and Wine

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2009 Senshi/Shitennou Ficathon. Revised November 2018.

He sits across from you at the table, glasses perched on the end of his Roman nose and a hand-rolled cigarillo hanging from his bee-stung lips.  He stares at you with those clear-blue eyes you once adored, even if they always did look they were laughing at you, and the joke was a cruel one.  But then all his jokes are cruel.  It’s just who he is.  
  
You cross your legs, cupping your red wine, heavy in the goblet.  You ponder drinking it, but for a mad, vain moment, you don’t want to stain your teeth.  
  
“I wouldn’t expect to see you here,” he comments, squeezing the cigarillo between his thumb and forefinger.  “I know you hate anything to do with politics.”  
  
You shrug, one-shouldered and controlled.  “My father and I came to an arrangement.  I come to this one event, and he stays far, far away for the foreseeable future.”  
  
He smirks, and when he does, you can see a tiny white scar on his chin.  “Such maneuvering for a father and daughter.”  
  
“I imagine your family dinners are similar,” you remark.  “Since your father is in the House of Councilors.”  
  
He nods, but you know better than to take that as an admission of anything.  “Tell me, Rei-san.  Do you ever wear anything but red dresses?  It seems I only ever see you in a skirt and high heels.”  
  
He walks a dangerous line, but you know he does it on purpose.  He wants to make you angry, because even though he hates real fire, he loves to stoke your hidden ones.  You’ll try not to give him the satisfaction.  
  
But then, you’ve tried before, haven’t you?  
  
“There is a modicum of purple and black in my wardrobe, but I do favor crimson,” you concede.  
  
“The color of passion,” he notes.  
  
You smile, white teeth bared.  “The color of war.”  
  
He frowns, wrinkling his brow as he does when he remembers something unexpectedly.  You wonder if he remembers you burning him, or if he’s seeing the blood pouring from the open wound he left in your stomach.  And then you wonder if maybe it’s the wrong lifetime you’re thinking of.  
  
But then, you burned him twice anyway.  
  
You smile with satisfaction, remembering how he touched you when he first saw you, and how you made him pay.  
  
He brings the cigarillo back to his lips, pulls the smoke into his mouth, then exhales the smoke without turning his head.  You recognize the challenge when you see it, subtle as a knife.  You inhale the cloud.  You don't cough.  
  
“Did you really just come as a favor to your father, Rei-san?” he asks, purring.  But you know he is no ordinary house cat, but a black panther stalking in the night.  “Or did you come for something else?”  
  
You arch an eyebrow, remembering what that used to do to him.  “For you?”  
  
He seems so self-assured, but you recognize the tension around the lines of his mouth, revealing his uncertainty.  “Stranger things have happened.”  
  
You laugh, full-bodied as the wine in your goblet.  You swirl it in the glass, holding it underneath your nose.  An undercurrent of oak and black cherry coats the smoke you’ve caught in your throat.  You wonder if it can be bottled.  
  
“Such arrogance,” you mock.  You never tease.  “One wonders how you survive under the weight of your own ego.”  You pause and drop your voice to below a whisper.  “Jadeite.”  
  
He winces at the old name as they all do.  They try to tell you they’re different men, but you know better, don’t you?  You know his eyes better than you know your own, and you know how cruel they can be.  Perhaps Ami and Makoto are kind enough to be taken in, and as for Kunzite and Minako… well, they’ve always been magnetized despite the danger – a violent polarity.  You can try to stand between them, but you know that they would both bear your burns.  
  
Fine.  Let you be the only one with an ounce of sense.  Let you be the only one to know that their taint goes past the bone.  They are stained with the blood of the centuries, and no water can wash it clean.  
  
“Don’t use that name.”  
  
“It’s who you are.”  
  
He crushes the cigarillo into the glass dish, staining its clarity with grey.  “You say that over and over again, but if you really believe it, why do you seek me out?  You want to see if you’re wrong.  You want to see if maybe there’s a glimmer of something else in these eyes of mine.  The ones you burned out of my skull.”  
  
You picture it in your mind, how his eyes burned before anything else.  You’re a little disturbed by the pleasure it brings you, easily covered.  “Isn’t it more likely that I’m making sure you don’t do more damage than you already have?”  
  
His fists clench, and you wonder if for once he’ll lose his temper first.  “More damage to who?  I know you want me to think it’s Mamoru and Usagi, but it’s really you, isn’t it?  You’re the one who doesn’t want to get hurt.”  
  
“I can take care of myself,” you assure him, rising to your feet and preparing to leave.  
  
He grabs your free wrist, and you swear for a moment, it feels as though you’ve been branded.  
  
“Oh, no, little girl,” he hisses, alight.  “That’s where you’re wrong.  You only think that you’re invincible, but you forget that I know you.  I’ve seen you beg, naked and writhing for me.  I’ve seen you on your knees pleading for your kingdom.  I’ve seen you bleed, and I’ve seen you die.  I know the shadows that lurk in the secret places of your heart.   I knew you when you razed planets to the ground.  If you could burn down the world and call it righteous, you’d do it and you’d like it.”

You do not talk about these things.  You do not even think about these things, but of course he would push.  He would dare.  He will not do so again.

“Let go,” you warn.  Promise.  “Or I kill you a third time.”

“You wear the color of war well,” he spits, releasing you with something akin to disgust.  “Enjoy your wine, Mars.  And your ashes.”  
  
He leaves you then.  You watch his back as he strides from the room, thrill at the thought of sinking in arrow into his heart.  
  
You don’t love him.  Maybe you can lie to yourself until you believe you never did.  
  
But you can’t quite ignore the lingering taste this encounter has left in the back of your throat.


End file.
